


When you keep secrets

by Rogercat



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Agreements, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Era, Choking, Doriath, Dreams, Dreams and Nightmares, F/M, Family Issues, Gen, Jewelry, Parent-Child Relationship, Past Relationship(s), Rumours, Silmarils, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 16:11:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16140815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rogercat/pseuds/Rogercat
Summary: Dior Eluchíl makes a different choice when nightmares warns him of what might happen with his family





	When you keep secrets

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to show how Dior, as married husband and father, may view the Quest for the Silmaril in a rather different light than his parents who was still not married at the time it happened

Everyone knew that it would be a difficult task, finding a solution that both partners were pleased with. Yet Dior Eluchíl, the current High King of Doriath after his Elven grandfather Thingol, did understand something deeper; the Silmaril was a heirloom to the House of Fëanor, but people here in his kingdom also claimed that it now belonged to him after the heroic deeds of his parents Beren and Luthien in their famed Quest for the Silmaril. 

 

Only that, Dior felt sick at the mere sight of the gemstone, with its strong light so bewitching that he could almost literally feel his Maia blood be calling back to Valinor, the Blessed Realm. 

 

“If I do not return it, it could be my family that will pay the price for my foolishness....” 

 

As far as Dior knew, having grown up quicker than a normal Elfling to the point that he already was married at the age of twenty-seven to his beloved Nimloth and father of three small children by the time he had become the new King at age thirty-three two and a half year ago, he had gotten a pretty different perspective about the whole matter with the Silmaril. 

 

“Being a married parent sure is different to how my parents must have looked at the Quest at first…” 

 

Dior loved his parents dearly, like all children in a warm and loving family, but he was not blind to some of their flaws now when he was grown up himself. Sighing for himself, he pulled a parchment closer and started to write down a letter to Maedhros, the eldest brother among the Sons of Fëanor.  

 

~X~X~X~X~X~X

 

Maedhros stood alone, a bit away from the troops he brought along for protection since it was unwise to travel alone in those dark times. As he hoped, a sole rider was soon coming from the direction of Doriath. A horse of a fine breed. The rider had a cloak that seemed almost homemade, well-used by the slightly worn look. But the fair face below, told another story.

 

“Rather brave, but also foolish, to ride out without guards, Your Majesty,” Maedhros commented with his arms crossed, as if it was merely another time in Valinor he needed to scold one of his brothers for returning home late at night.

 

“I had to sneak out of Doriath and avoid being seen with some help from my in-laws. As far as the royal court know, I have locked the door to my personal chamber to be left alone in meditation. It was the only way I could think of, or I would never have managed to get here,” Dior admitted, dismounting as he spoke. Carefully moving his cloak a little bit, he revealed the Nauglamír around his neck, the Silmaril as the centerpiece which he had covered with a smaller shawl borrowed from his wife to avoid its light from being spotted.  

 

Now, Dior himself was pretty tall himself thanks to the genes from his paternal grandparents, but he felt like a youngster against the tall height of Maedhros, and very much unprotected against this far more seasoned warrior. 

 

“So you are truly willing to give it up?” Maedhros wondered, making a point of his words by suddenly taking hold of Dior's both hands in his remaining hand of flesh and the Silmaril with his metal hand, pulling rather hard on it. Dior tried his best to not show how he felt that movement causing painful red marks on his neck. The Nauglamír in itself was a masterpiece of gold thread and the finest emeralds that Finrod had brought with him from Valinor once, but even as it now rested lightly on the neck despite the weight, it felt like a chain for Dior. 

 

“Why should I not learn a lesson about my grandfather's manner of death that was more or less directly caused by his pride and greed, when I have ** _a wife and three children_** to protect, all three below the age of six years? Feel welcome to take that cursed gemstone right now if you want, I do not want it anywhere my family when it could bring death to us!” Dior choked, feeling the necklace tighten around his neck by Maedhros. It was a test, no doubt, to force him to realizing the foolishness of keeping the Silmaril from the sons of its creator. 

 

“ _ Bring death to us? _ Blessed with some actual foresight of what might happen, unlike your mother?” 

 

Maedhros loosened his hold a little, allowing Dior some air so he could gasp for breath. 

 

“The night before I wrote that letter to ask you about meeting me out here, I had a dream of a horrible snow storm, hearing my twin sons calling out for me and Nimloth like a slowly vanishing echo in the distance! And who would not be forced awake, by the feeling of something that feels awfully much like a sword driven into your chest by a shadow that hisses about the foolishness of my mother choosing a mortal over a Elven prince!? Yes, I have heard those stupid rumours that I am the illegitimate child between my mother and Celegorm despite that I was actually born four years after that meeting where my parents was nearly killed by your brothers after their exile from Nargothrond, my former home at Lanthir Lamath were not as isolated as people think!” 

 

Celegorm, it could only be his second brother as a such shadow, full of rage and humiliation over the past. Maedhros knew that Celegorm had not forgiven Luthien for making Huan, his best friend, choose her over him, either. 

 

“As if you even could be Celegorm's child, yes, your age of thirty-five years is too far away from a such conception to match. Those who created those rumours have never seen how strongly my brother inherited his facial features from our maternal relatives and the silver hair of our paternal grandmother. You have neither of them.” 

 

Realising Dior without another sound as the Nauglamír was ripped from his neck, Maedhros watched the Half-Elven fall to the ground, drawing several deep breaths with the Silmaril laying just between them. It was just narrowly that Dior had been choked to death. 

 

“But I will admit that you have proven yourself wiser than your family, in wanting to avoid your family being killed. How many soldiers does Doriath have at its command right now?” 

 

Still coughing where he was kneeling, Dior managed to whisper a answer.

 

“Pitifully small defense for a Kingdom grown spoiled with protection by the Girdle. Listen carefully now, Dior Eluchíl, for this is what I approve of an alliance; Surrounder the Silmaril formally at the border in Doriath, after I send word for my brothers to come, and Celegorm will be the one to be given it because of the history between him and your parents. Your army will be trained by my commanders and added to our forces against Morgoth. Your twin sons will be my squires after their tenth year. And the Nauglamír will be given back to the Dwarves, being one of the finest works from their hands.” 

 

Dior could only nod in agreement as he slowly stood up on trembling legs, not daring to do anything else. Perhaps he would be viewed as a coward when people learned about what he had done here, but he had his family to think about. 

 

“ _ As if I even am proud to be the son of the pair who failed to take a such golden opportunity and slay Morgoth with a cut across his throat when he was in that sleep mother had put him in…! _ ” Dior muttered bitterly as he went back to his own horse, loud enough for Maedhros to hear. That was something Celegorm might be delighted to hear, the sweet irony of Luthien's and Beren's own son being ashamed by their deeds in Angband.     

 

“Tell Celegorm that I am willing to allow him one single punch to my face if he still feels angry about my mother, but that it have to be done in private so no one else sees it. My children hates when I get hurt, especially the boys, I did not escape unharmed from hunting small game animals when I still was not the King,” Dior suddenly spoke before he mounted his horse. 

 

“I will. Now get back to your kingdom and tell your family about this agreement, the sooner we deal with this, the better for everyone involved.” 

 

~X~X~X~X~X~X 

 

Nimloth, naturally threw a small fuss at seeing what had happened to her husband when he sneaked back into their bed chamber. While putting on a healing salve so the red marks on his skin would be gone in the morning, she did agree that Dior had done the best choice under the circumstances. 

 

“Rather this than the events in your nightmare the other night, with our sons lost in the freezing cold and us both most likely killed and Doriath sacked…” 

 

Dior did not say anything. In all honesty, he was just happy to get rid of the Silmaril. That dream had been a warning, a foreshadowing of what might happen if he had allowed his pride to ensure that he kept the Silmaril. The possible deaths of his wife and children were not worth it.     

 

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if Maedhros did not seem too nice here, but please try and see it from his view: Thingol have not been much helpful in the battles against Morgoth, and Luthien really could ended the war right there if she and Beren had slain Morgoth in his forced sleep instead of just taking a Silmaril....so why should he trust that Dior is being honest about not causing trouble for the Noldor like his relatives?


End file.
